Burnt Sand
by sorrelshift
Summary: I'm Alexis Rothstein, a 23 year old archeologist, and I have received an old journal, per request from a friend to read its tale of genocide. Wait did it just say Ishbal! Why am I in a desert? What the hell is that Scar? Kitty? Kitty! KAMIKAZE! Scarxoc


This story will have different parts of the plot such as seen from the manga and the two animes along with a few of my own ideas to create a completely different plot.

Reasons:

1. In the 2003 anime and manga Scar is younger and sexier than his 2009 part version. Although the 2003 anime and manga still have around a 10 yrs or less age difference.

2. I prefer the moments that Scar and Alphonse share during and after the little Barry the Chopper incident, in which Scar tells Alphonse he can see that he is human and although not visible in the form of tears he can feel his sorrow.

3. I Like May Chang

4. Doesn't like some added extras in the 2003 anime like Majal's part.

5. Must save Nina!

6. Likes how Scar doesn't die in the 2009 anime.

Summary: (1st person) I'm Alexis Rothstein, a 23 year old archeologist, and I have received an old journal from the 1908s, which has been passed through many hands to finally me a specialist on the request of a friend to read it's tale of a genocide in a place no one has even heard of. Did it just say Ishbal? But that place only exists in an anime I watch! What's going on here? Why am I in a desert? What the hell, is that Scar? Kitty where are you...? Kitty? KAMIKAZE!

**Ja = yes in German**

**Chto za huy = what the fuck in Russian**

**Photophobia = the fear of light….Not having your picture taken.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its ideas only my own original characters and plots. **

Chapter 1: Cat Telepathy?

I closed my book with a soft clap. My hand vigorously brushed pale, long bangs behind my ears, while I tried to stave off the tears. After a short moment, the book was set on top of a tall stack.

It was another unfinished work…another Jewish child killed before their story told. That was what most holocaust stories ended with…death, if not it wouldn't be about six million Jews that died. I paused bushing loving fingers over the stack; my vision over come for a moment by little children smiling at me through dirt smudge cheeks and tired eyes. Their arms were reaching for me, even as they withered away to ash. A blink then the room came back as empty and alone, as it was supposed to be. Only the eternal scream of souls held and bound in paper surrounded me. I shivered. God, I'm turning into an emo and gaining a mother complex. Ugh, I'm going home and drowning myself in anime. Or it could be manga instead, while cuddling my fluffy, little kitty. Or I could do all at the same time, while I eat strawberry pocky! Yosh! I nodded to myself and did my own little chibi cheer, before I burst into action. I'm coming kitty!

The crinkling of plastic distracted me from my musings, while I went through bagging each book. Each book then found a resting place in one of the many locked cabinets, before I started out of the building through the empty halls.

Only reason I remained was due to the new find of holocaust bibliographies, which I had assigned to translate with my awesome being a fluent, badass German powers as my boss Linda so elegantly put it. A very complementing but trying job ja?

The books mentioned had been found by a group of construction workers while fixing an old sewage system. The control rooms of that sector had been abandoned near 1931 for a major control room closer to the city. One of the control rooms had held a small army of books. Books, I am now restoring and translating for use in history books and museums.

Walking into the front office area, I passed what few employees I also worked with desks. A blue bag and note on one Mori Beiku's desk took but a moment to retrieve, before I set off for the front doors again.

Not bothering with the alarm system or locking of the door, which I left to the janitors, I pulled my hood farther down. My black sunglasses were no where to be found though, and I inwardly cursed at myself. After searching yet finding no trace of them, I reluctantly left keeping to the shadows under the building, till I made it to my car. In which case, I came out into the remaining late summer light. Only those truly caught unaware wouldn't notice how those shoulders tensed in the light though. The light seemed to reflect and bend around the black car reaching in beams for what was underneath the hood. My breath caught, and I began panting like I had run a mile each step adding another to the long distance. Next instance the car wheel was being gripped, and the car door had been almost yanked off at the force it had been opened and shut at. Photophobia is officially its own world of suck.

I shivered, plopping back into the seat. Relaxing slightly under the cars tinted windows, I breathed out, "God, am I messed up or what? I still can't even go through a damn parking lot without my glasses."

Not expecting a response, I went to put the bag and note into the other seat out of my death grip, before the key was shoved into the slot. The old v6 started smoothly for its age. The vehicle finally brought to a stop besides a weathered apartment complex. Reaching my own easily through the shade, I opened the door, closed, and locked it after myself.

On the coffee table lay my glasses all innocently. Was it just me or does anyone else feel an all-powerful, dark purple aura surrounding them? I twitched.

Nothing.

Another twitch.

"I hate you," I spat balefully under the many German and Russian death threats I knew. Sure they may be inanimate object, but who said that means I can't take my anger out on it.

"RAAAEEEYYYYYYYYHHHHH!" I screeched. Hands held into claw like positions near my face.

"M'RRROW!"

I threw my back to the door arms to the side behind me with my freaked out face fully engaged. One leg made its way into a goofy karate position just in time to see my cat puff up like he had a hair ball explosion, before he just tipped off the armchair of the couch, landing on his back with his legs up in the air in a fluffy ball.

I giggled but hid, when my kitty turned to me with the scariest glare I've ever seen for something that only clears 6 inches in height. I swear it. I twitched and peered out from my previous shield aka the coat rack.

That's when I lost. Not the game you idiots. Well, that too now, but no I meant from the cutest kitty face ever.

My cat just sat there with big eyes that just screamed, "Why? What did I do?"

I twitched. Kitty decided then to amp it up. Fuck.

If that cat had been using 'sad kitty face 9000', it had just turned it the fuck up to 10000. If this was anime, he would have tears flooding my apartment.

I sighed, "Damn."

Kitty, who I fondly call Kamikaze for his habit of falling, seemed to forgive me and wadded his cute little, gray butt over to me. He stopped and sat on top of my feet tilting his fuzzy little head to try and see my face, but he fell on his butt for his efforts. I giggled forgetting the previous events in favor of picking Kamikaze up. I cooed at him, tickling his white underbelly, while he valiantly fought back with clumsy and oversized, little paws. I aw'ed and snuggled him, making his adorably punk, black leather collar with little, silver ring piercings clink together with the cross on the front that had his name and information on the back. Jealous? Cause, I bet my cat can pull off more levels of cuteness and badass then yours can.

Back to the matters of my apartment, it isn't condo large, but it still had all the normal essentials: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom with a shower/bathtub, living room/dining room, laundry room closet contraption not necessary but wanted, and balcony again not needed but certainly enjoyed although always with the glass door closed to prevent Kamikaze any more dangerous falling incidents. This cat may save me from stress, but he tortures me with worry.

After satisfying the need to tickle the snot out of Kamikaze, I sat us down on the couch. The note and book in my hand swiftly, joining my sunglasses on the glass table top of the coffee table, before the previously mentioned glasses were swiped up and shoved roughly onto my head and clasped on.

They were one of my favorite pairs of steampunk goggles, which are one of the old time gadget styles, if that makes sense to anyone. They were modeled off of a pair of old airplane goggles. There lenses were special ordered for my…ah…special medical reasons. There was a good reason; that I had photophobia. I have albinisim; for those uneducated in the matter, yes, I am an albino. My hair was an extremely light blond color

kind of like bone. Irises? Pinkish, red. Yes, I know. You're probably thinking ew pink! I know though it's irritation to me to. Thankfully, they're red enough to be seen as a lighter red than my pupils though, which red eyes wise is how albino eyes actually look not like in the movie. Scientifically, it's caused by a lack of coloring pigments or melanin. It means I sunburn easily and badly. Oh, did I mention too much light in my eyes can be physically painful, and exposure for to long could severely damage my sight even to the point where I of blindness. Yah, it's not so fun being an albino now hmm…, so get your fucking facts straight….Mary Sus fuckers. Ahem, sorry for the rant.

Back on track, I had bought the lenses to be darkened and have a tint of green added in. At the time I had been still inexperienced in making building steampunk objects, so I had enlisted the help of a steampunk glasses maker at an anime convention. They were conformed right up to the skin. Black leather around the slightly rounded up protruded goggles got smaller in a downwards angle from my eyes to where it circled my head with a buckle on the back. The small, metal plates on the straps and metal around the glass part of the goggles were a tarnished silver.

Since then I've gotten a lot more into steampunk clothing and styles, at least half of what I owned was now some how steampunk. Even now, what I was wearing was steampunk. Most of it was proudly made by yours truly from scraps of things I bought from stores or what I previously owned. They would make finding a job very hard though that is, if I wasn't one of the very best at what I do.

My outfit today consisted of- CLAWS!

"Ow! Dammit! Kamikaze, bad! Ow! No!" I screamed.

My cat said nothing of course just stay firmly attached to my face by his fucking claws and teeth.

Yes, ow.

"Kamikaze, off…" I growled.

Kamikaze obeyed and fell back into my lap with a plop. If fur could have impatience plastered over it, Kamikaze managed it.

I was slowly losing this battle, if the claws piercing my thighs had anything to say.

"Okay! I'm sorry for ignoring you," I sighed. Insane: yes. I would be enjoying it though, if it weren't for the claws in my legs.

Kamikaze sat back looking satisfied. I, myself, just leaned back and relaxed.

God, work was taking a toll on me. Taking the remote, I tuned the TV onto the anime channel. Kamikaze satisfied himself with cuddling up to my side; his tail brushing up against my side. Oh god, that tickles.

I giggled. I swear the speed picked up.

**_T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k_**

After a few hours of anime splurging on FMA and other animes, I got up and swaggered like a drunk towards my bed. Kamikaze followed me slowly the ever present blue bag and note hanging heavily from his mouth, leaving the mess we made of the room behind us. I would clean the random icecream tubs and tuna cans tomorrow, which was thankfully Sunday therefore job free.

We had broken out the icecream (and tuna) after Nina's episode in Brotherhood, which always made us bawl our eyes out.

We, yes kitty and I, loved the FMA series and Brotherhood, but compared to the original style the second version is greatly lacking. Like…Scar! Come on fangirls we all agree he was much sexier in the first version and manga. Honestly, what the hell were they thinking? Us girls like muscle, but for all things holy like anime no one should be that buff and gruff 'cept Armstrong, plus characters already designed to be buff that way you aren't disappointing fans. Although, I loved how much more he developed as a character in whole in Brotherhood and the manga.

Rant aside…I'm going to bed.

Pushing past the dining room area and through the door into my bedroom, I pounced on my bed with what little energy I had left, landing in an uncoordinated bellyflop. Fuck pjs. I'm sleeping in the next few seconds; I don't have time for taking even clothes, hell, not even my shoes especially with all the buckles those things have. I barely had time to register a paper and bag carrying bundle of fur snuggling between the crook of my arm and side, before my lights went out.

**_T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k_**

**(Point of view: no one)**

Blond hair so pale it looked reminiscent to aged paper in the dark stood up in a short, punkish haircut. It stood smooth and close to the head around the sides and had longer strips in the back a few thin strands reaching past the back of the neck, while the rest remained naturally spiked. Closer to the middle of the top of the head the hair was spiked up messily no longer than the length of her hand and ended with a small bit of edgy bangs that was moved slightly over the nose over the right eye.

Day clothes still clothed the lithe frame only revealing a peak of skin at the stomach, hands, and face where the clothing that normally covered the skin with fabric armor were pulled out of normal placement by tired, restless sleep. The skin was a unnaturally pale white was tinted a soft pink…as if the skin was transparent.

A black, leather corset belt fit snug around her under-bust secured with two belts on the front a strap holding it up on each shoulder, two chains hanging from rings on the front, over a long button-up shirt, which fell on her loose. The combination emphasized her chest and its almost completely flatness, but somehow it was in a flattering way. Its overly long sleeves reached her finger tips, and a collar that buttoned to the top of her neck. A dark tanned jacket with a fuzzy-lined white hood lay over the shirt and corset unzipped, while red gloves with metal guards on the back and large, intricate metal cuffs on the wrists connected to the glove ends. Dark gray, tight shorts stopped under metal knee guards, which led to black buckle up boots with at least seven buckles. A black and white stripped scarf looping around her neck and over her face.

Her old fashioned look fit in nicely to the old fashioned punk style that gave life to the room. Old fashioned stripped bedcovers and wallpaper which was stained for extra affect with splotches of red and black and hand carved wooden furniture cluttered with papers, old books, candles, and incense burners gave the room a homely look in what could be see from what little moonlight filtered through the crack in the drapes.

**_T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k_**

**(Normal Pov)**

11:00 pm

…

11:20 pm

…nothing

11:40 pm

….nada, Senor taco…

11:45 pm

… Go away, seriously, nothing is happening. Sleep damn it….

11:47 pm

…..see-"RHHOOOOWWWW!"

"Chto za huy!" I shouted in russian, flailing. Yes, I'm German, but I'm also Russian. And ironically as others would say part of Jewish although none of my family ever was religiously Jewish; it was only by bloodline. I was otherwise happily Christian although not hardcore traditional more liberal kinda expected from someone with two gay uncles and one lesbian aunt (not to mention *ahem* yaoi).

Excuse me but back to the point...LIKE THE FUCKING POINTY CLAWS IN MY SIDES!

"Kamikaze! Off!" I yelled. I would say I fought valiantly, but that would be a lie. I was tired from working long hours for the past few days, plus I had a weakness for cute, small things, etc.

After the short fight, I grabbed the bag and note from my cat, taking it as a "Do your fucking work then you can sleep" moment. Kamikaze could probably open his own psychic/telepath business. The nightstand light was turned on, and I blinked a bit, trying to adjust to the bright light.

Opening the note, I settled myself in a sitting position against my pillows.

It read, _"Hello Alexis, my family has recently come under a position in which this journel was found in older past generations' belongings, which we still owned from an old will that was recently rediscovered. We have been trying to id its age or where it came from, but it has only lead us to more mysteries even with my own delving. As one of the top specialists around, we were hoping you would be able to shed some light on this subject._

_Sincerely, Mori Beiku_

_P.s. Oh, just in cause your wondering which specialty, I'm talking about, the journal mentions a specific genocide,that three archeologist along with myself have been stumped on. We haven't even came to a conclusion of its timeframe until a page mentioned a day._

_P.s.s Hope it interests you."_

I snorted. Mori was a man of few words, easy-going personality, and a very talented archeologist in itself, but that was concentrated mostly on Japanese history. Whenever he ever wrote anything though, he always went overboard and got all stiff and uptight. It was actually kind of funny, watching how ruffled he got, whenever he had to write anything. He always glared at whatever he was using to write with, as if it had personally wronged him. He only ever got anything with any emotional feel to it in the p.s. parts; although, he always acted like a tease in those.

It had eventually developed into a game with him and the boss. She forced him to write a huge amount of written reports, and Mori would write the reports in the most uptight and difficult way to decipher as possible. Everyone was secretly relieved, when they finally got together. Although, they tried to act the same around us, even a blind hobo could see it. They were just too cute.

Turning to the bag, I pulled out a worn-out, brown journal. Front clasp quickly undone, I thumbed the pages before I came across a bookmarked section. Cause, hell, might as well read it now, since I can't sleep right now anyways.

The scratchy font read, "1908", at the top right hand corner. I frowned flipping back to the front and began reading. The story seemed to be told by a young boy, and although some errors were spotted it was obvious the boy was quite skilled with writing. He kept it mostly personal and less informative, which while normal wasn't to helpful towards archeology at the moment. There also seems to be some sort of battle or genocide is being waged against "their people", but they and their attackers have yet to be named by the boy. This suggests it was ingrained into the boy; that he had to grow up with it to the point it a part of usual life wherever he lived.

The boys name was given as Leon, which was actually a popular German name, meaning Lion symbolizing kindness, grandeur, and courage. Although, most will likely see it as Greek in origin, but it might have come from either sides. He is five years old, and his sixth birthday is approaching fast in a couple of months is my educated guess. From what deep descriptive parts he wrote, it could be seen that the boy was tanned, red-eyed, and white haired. Interesting, perhaps he was an albino; at least I thought that till the tan part. Perhaps, it is a mutation. I paused. It could be he has oscular albinism, and a bloodline who's hair turns white at a very young age. That didn't seem quite right though.

My eye sight was blurring from exhaustion now. I managed to read one last word though, before my head fell forward into blissful unconsciousness. It was just one word messily scrawling the location of the child's home.

_Ishbal_

**_T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k—T-h-i-s—i-s—a—l-i-n-e—b-r-e-a-k_**

**Hope you liked chapter one. **

**I accept reviews as payment, love, and motivation to write more chapters. The more I get the faster I update as well.**

**(http:/ /wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Short-Punk-hairstyles .jpg remove spaces to get picture of haircut) **

**(For those to lazy to do that imagine Hichigo with long strands of hair in the back a character from Bleach and Ichigo's inner hollow) **


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